In Plain Sight
by paperstorm
Summary: Sometimes Dean likes to kiss Sam in public. Wincest.


Sometimes Dean likes to kiss Sam in public.

Only sometimes. Most of the time, Dean doesn't even really like when Sam touches him in public, more than a platonic pat on the back. It's not that he's ashamed. It really isn't. He stopped worrying about what other people might think of what him and Sam have a long time ago. Partly because there's no point fighting it – they've tried to be apart and they've tried to be with other people and it never works – but mostly because Dean doesn't give two shits what anyone else thinks of him. He's a hundred times more awesome than anyone else anyway, incest notwithstanding. So it isn't that he'd be embarrassed if some random person he'll never see again figured out what he and Sam are to each other. Or, well, not _too_ embarrassed. No, the reason he doesn't like Sam touching him in public is because what he has with is brother is powerful, overwhelming, completely consuming, but also fragile, and Dean likes to keep it hidden – in a locked motel room, with the lights off, under the cover of cheap sheets with a thread count in the single digits. To keep it safe.

Their lives are too chaotic, too full of turmoil and mayhem and constant spinning, whirling, catastrophic disaster. When Dean's with Sam, it's his brief moment of solace. When he's got Sam wrapped up in his arms, when they're together alone in the dark, that's the only time Dean feels like he can really breathe. Sure, they fight. Sometimes, they fight more than they get along. But somehow, all of that disappears with their clothes, and Sam's lips against Dean's, his soft hair between Dean's fingers, his body huge and strong, pressing Dean into the mattress or writhing beneath him. Dean can't risk the possibility of some outside force worming its way in between them and taking Sam away from him, taking what's far too often the only thing that has the ability to make Dean smile. Not again, anyway. So when there are prying eyes around, Dean pretends Sam is just his brother, best friend, partner. He saves the rest of it, the everything else, for when it's just the two of them and Dean can keep this beautiful, delicate thing protected.

But sometimes, just sometimes, that all flies out the window and Dean likes it, _loves_ it, when Sam lets him kiss him where anyone could see. Like now. They're in a bar, the kind where there's a haze of brownish gray cigarette smoke hanging just below the ceiling like an opium den, and the bartender's fabric to skin ratio is leaning heavily toward the skin side even though she hasn't been what you could call attractive for at least a decade, and you'd be laughed at if you ordered anything other than beer or whiskey. Dean just downed his fourth of the latter, and Sam's only halfway through his third but he doesn't like being drunk as much as Dean does. He also doesn't need the alcohol to be as uninhibited as Dean does; he's got this annoying self-confidence that Dean pretends to have but mostly just fakes for the sake of keeping up appearances. Dean's got too much permanently embedded self-loathing for that. Whatever. He's still badass.

Sam sways just a little where he's sitting in their corner booth, tucked away in the back of the place where they're not completely out of sight but they're not quite in the throng either.

"Our clothes are gonna stink like smoke," Sam says, the consonants of his words just the tiniest bit more relaxed than usual.

"So we'll wash them," Dean answers, nodding over at a waitress and holding up two fingers, motioning for another round.

Sam snorts. "You mean _I'll_ wash them."

"That's what I said."

The girl comes back with two more filled shot glasses, placing them down on the table and smiling coyly at Dean. This one is pretty, reddish-brown hair and bright blue eyes and a lean body with perky breasts that bounce when she walks, but Dean only halfway notices her. She's been trying to catch his eye all night, and in another lifetime, Dean would have her bent over in the backseat of the Impala by now. But Sam's right there beside him, and as cute as the chick is, Dean's far more concerned with the six feet and four and a half inches of gorgeous little brother who's currently glaring daggers at the poor, unsuspecting waitress.

So Dean just says, "Thanks darlin'," with a wink and his best impersonation of a gentleman, and then turns back to his brother so she'll get the message that he isn't interested.

She leaves, and Sam glowers after her just a little bit. Secretly, Dean likes it when Sam gets jealous, because it means Sam's as crazy for what they have together as he is. And because it's hot, seeing his normally sweet, even-tempered brother all pissy and possessive. But he won't tell Sam that.

"Hey," Dean says, nudging Sam's knee with his own. "She's just doin' her job, dude."

"She doesn't get paid to flirt with you," Sam mutters, leaning his arms down onto the table and slouching his shoulders as he obviously tries to hide the fact that it bothers him when girls look at Dean.

"How d'you know? Besides, can you blame her?" Dean asks with a smirk, and Sam glares at him too. "Oh come on. It was a joke, don't be a bitch."

"I'm not being a bitch," Sam says hotly. "You're being an ass."

He picks up one of the full shot glasses and tosses it back, grimacing as he swallows. Dean watches his Adam's apple bob with it, and he shifts to relieve the fact that his jeans are suddenly a bit too tight. It's not just Sam – it's also the leftover adrenaline from the hunt they just finished. A good one always amps Dean up.

"Fuckin' country music." Dean wrinkles his nose as something twangy filters through the speaker that's not too far above their heads. "Would it kill them to play some Zeppelin?"

"So then let's get outta here."

"Why? Got a hot date?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "I'm _tired_, Dean. We've been up for like three days."

"That mother was slippery," Dean agrees. Usually, tracking down a werewolf is fairly simple, but this one had been smarter than they'd anticipated. "Still, though, we kicked ass. Sucker didn't stand a chance."

Just a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of Sam's mouth. "Yeah."

"Admit it, you like hunting as much as I do."

"I like saving people," Sam corrects, but he doesn't look quite as annoyed anymore.

Dean slides closer to him and tucks one leg up onto the seat. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of Sam's eyes, tucks it behind his ear.

"What're you doin'?" Sam asks.

Sliding his hand down to cup Sam's jaw, he pulls his brother's face in closer to his, resting their foreheads together. "Kiss me?" he requests softly.

"Are you nuts?" Sam laughs. "We're in a biker bar in Nashville. We'll get lynched."

"No one's watchin'. We could take every single one of these pot-bellied fuckers, anyway. If we had to," Dean says, smiling.

"This coming from the guy who always gets us two beds so no one will know we sleep together."

"So maybe the hunt got me a little … y'know. Worked up." A dirty thrill runs up and down Dean's spine at just saying that out loud. It isn't uncommon after a hunt for him and Sam to just crash into each other, left over emotion and adrenaline pumping through their veins, all grabby hands and insistent lips and needy, desperate bodies – but they never really talk about it. "Plus, it'd be hot. Think about it. Anyone could look over and see us."

"It probably doesn't say anything good about your psyche that death turns you on," Sam murmurs, but Dean can tell his resolve is breaking.

"Can it, college boy," he jokes, leaning forward and brushing his lips against Sam's.

"Don't you think there should be some kind of statute of limitations on how long you're allowed to call me that? It's been years, man," Sam continues, as if Dean hadn't done anything at all, and it's Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

"I'm puttin' the moves on you over here, asshole," he points out, poking Sam hard in between two ribs and grinning to himself as Sam squirms. "Way to bruise a guy's ego."

"I can't imagine anything but good things would come from you getting knocked down a peg or two," Sam reasons, but he's smiling, and then he finally gives in and kisses Dean back, so Dean doesn't bother coming up with a clever retort.

For a while, Dean just lets their lips move together in a mostly dry slide, just enjoying having Sam close to him and the fact that every single person in this bar could be looking at them right now. It's another dirty thrill, imagining all those people glancing over and seeing Dean in a lip-lock with his little brother. Of course, no one would know they're brothers, but in a place like this, two dudes kissing would be scandalous enough. And, deep in that dark place inside Dean that never learned how to properly feel shame, he wouldn't care if anyone here _did_ know he and Sam were related by blood. It's all part of the wrongness that makes Dean like it so much. And it fits nicely into his fuck-the-world personality – just dangerous enough to be exciting.

Sam hums quietly, leaning into it a little, and Dean's skin tingles. He licks at Sam's lips and Sam parts them enough to let Dean inside. He dips his tongue just barely into Sam's mouth, once and then again, just enough to tease, and Sam chases after it like Dean knew he would. He gets bolder, sliding his tongue over Dean's in delicious, wet swirls, and inching just a little bit closer on the seat. Someone walks by not too far from their table, heading to the can probably, but Dean ignores them and gets one hand up into Sam's hair, tangling his fingers in the silky strands. Sam doesn't seem to mind at all – he just kisses Dean deeper, even though Dean knows he wouldn't have missed the person moving passed them. His hunter instincts are too sharp for that. Like Dean figured it might, this is tapping into the tiny little part of Sam that's a bit of an exhibitionist. He'd deny it if he was asked, but Dean knows it's there. Just like he knows if he nips at Sam's bottom lip just barely hard enough to hurt, Sam will make that choked noise in the back of his throat that sets Dean on fire.

They've been at this for years, in one way or another – tangled up together in this strange, crazy, amazing thing that Dean can't really explain or rationalize but isn't anywhere near strong enough to resist either. He can't even bring himself to want to resist, especially not at times like this when Sam is so close he can feel the heat radiating like a furnace from his body, his hand trailing slowly up Dean's thigh, fingers like a hot poker on Dean's skin. Dean loves Sam's hands, loves how big they are, how strong and sure – how he can manhandle Dean, shoving him around like he doesn't weigh a thing, reminding him that Sam is only chronologically the little brother, but still touch him so gently. There's love in the way that Sam touches him, and Dean likes it, even if he'd never admit it out loud because he's a guy and guys don't say shit like that.

Dean pushes his tongue back into Sam's mouth, letting it glide with Sam's. With the hand that isn't in Sam's hair, he brushes his fingers down Sam's back and then lifts the hem of his shirt up to pet along the warm skin. It's muggy in here, Tennessee in July and there's hardly any air conditioning, and Sam's skin is sticky and Dean wants to lick it. Sam shivers a little, his own fingers brushing just barely there over the quickly growing bulge in Dean's pants, and Dean swears softly under his breath at the little tremor the touch sends up his spine.

"S'hot, right?" he asks, opening his eyes and scanning the rest of the bar over Sam's shoulder. There are definitely a few wary glances in their direction, and Dean smiles smugly. Secretly, every one of those leather-clad, cowboy hat wearing douchebags is probably wishing they could have someone even half as sexy as Sam. Dean's struck with half an urge to give them the finger and tell them to eat their hearts out.

"Yeah," Sam breathes. "Wanna get outta here?"

And hell yes, that's exactly what Dean wants. He pulls a few bills from his pocket and drops them down onto the table, leaving a generous tip for their waitress because he's just that nice a guy, and then he grabs Sam's hand and drags him towards the back door. Just before they get there, in the little hallway where the bathrooms are, Dean can't quite resist shoving Sam into the wall and kissing him, slow and dirty, while he grinds into him just a little. Sam moans softly and Dean grins against his lips. Then he pulls Sam out the door, but instead of heading toward the parking lot, Dean leads him further into the alley.

"Isn't the car that way?" Sam says, glancing behind them.

"Mhm." Dean mostly ignores the question and pushes Sam up against the bricks. He wraps one hand around the back of Sam's sweat-tacky neck and cups his face with the other, kissing him again, quick and rough and perfect. He presses in as close to the heat of Sam's huge body as he can get; pushing the top of his thigh up into Sam's crotch just to hear him gasp.

"You wanna do it here?" Sam asks breathlessly.

"Well." Dean smirks a little. "Not _it_. But maybe something."

A little frown creases Sam's forehead, like he's not sure whether to argue or be turned on. Dean doesn't give him the option. He's so aroused his head is spinning, so he just kisses Sam one more time and then sinks down to his knees and nuzzles the outline of Sam's hard cock through his jeans. Sam makes a surprised little sound, and then he exhales heavily and drops his hand to rest on the top of Dean's head. Dean mouths at him through his clothes until the fabric is damp and tastes like his own spit, and then he reaches up and pops the button on Sam's pants so he can wrestle them down enough for Sam's cock to spring free.

It's hard and flushed dark red, leaking tiny dribbles of pre-come that Dean licks up while he curls his fingers around the shaft and strokes lightly. Sam sighs happily; when Dean looks up at him, Sam's eyes are shut and his mouth is open just a little, his lips still shiny from all the kissing. As much as Dean is so turned on he can't think, he does manage to remember that Sam was probably right about this not being the safest area of the country to get caught with a dick in his mouth, so Dean decides to save the teasing for later, when he has Sam spread out on a bed in a motel. He swirls his tongue around the head of Sam's cock a few times and then takes it into his mouth, swallowing around it and sucking hard.

"Dean," Sam mumbles, his fingers moving through Dean's short hair. One hand slips down and his thumb brushes over the corner of Dean's mouth.

Dean waggles his eyebrows and Sam laughs a little, his expression soft and fond, until Dean laves his tongue over the sensitive underside of his cock, and then Sam's eyes flutter close again. Dean pulls away from Sam's erection just long enough to spit into his hand, and then he slides his mouth back over the hard flesh while his hand twists and strokes and Sam groans shakily and his head falls back against the brick.

"Close," he manages to slur, and Dean's almost surprised Sam can handle words at all because he's pressing his tongue into all Sam's favorite spots and squeezing his fist just how Sam likes it. Dean sucks harder at Sam's urging, bobbing his head sloppily, his tongue moving over the underside, until Sam's grabbing roughly at Dean's hair and coming. Warm, bitter spurts land on Dean's tongue and Dean closes his eyes and keeps sucking and swallowing until Sam weakly pushes him off.

"Shit," he breathes, and then there's a loud crash somewhere to Dean's left, and he looks over and repeats the curse for a different reason.

The waitress from before, the one who'd been flirting with him, is standing a few yards away from them by the dumpsters, a bag of garbage in her hand and a smattering of broken glass at her feet from where she'd obviously dropped a handful of empty bottles. Her mouth is hanging open and her blue eyes are so wide they look like they're about to pop right out of the sockets.

"I … I'm sorry, I … I didn't …" she splutters, staring at them like they have two or three heads each, and Dean barely resists laughing.

He gives her his most devastating, panty-soaking grin as he stands up, moving just slightly in front of his brother so Sam can get his pants done back up without her getting any more of a show than she already has.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says. He winks at her again, glancing behind himself to make sure Sam's ready before he starts walking. Sam's face is beet red but he doesn't look angry, just a little uncomfortable, so Dean catches his eye and nods in the direction of the Impala.

"Couldn't resist," he tells the girl as they pass her.

"Yeah. It's, um … it's fine," she says unsteadily, only meeting his gaze for a fleeting second and then looking away, and Dean is _definitely_ going to revisit this moment in his mind later when he's fucking Sam. Or when Sam's fucking him. Whatever, he's not picky. As long as somebody fucks somebody, Dean'll be a happy camper. And the whole kissing-Sam-in-public thing is for sure going on his list of things to do a hell of a lot more often.

"That was stupid," Sam mutters, a few minutes later when they're back in the car. "We're lucky it was her and not one of those big dudes. At least six of them were holding, I counted when we first went in."

"So are we," Dean points out. "And I guarantee we're better shots."

"I don't know about you, but my response time probably isn't all that great mid-orgasm," Sam says, glaring at Dean from across the seat, but Dean can tell he isn't really angry. He thinks sometimes Sam just feels the need to bitch on principle.

"Seemed like a damn good one, though," Dean jokes, poking Sam in the thigh. "You're welcome, by the way. Plus, we gave that chick somethin' to rub one off to for the rest of her freakin' _life_."

Sam rolls his eyes, but there's a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he says, "Your selflessness is astounding. You should win some kind of humanitarian award."

"What the hell's the fun in that?"

"There could be perks."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Dean tugs at Sam's sleeve, smiling when Sam willingly slides along the bench seat and leans in to kiss Dean's neck.

"Get us a room and I'll show you."


End file.
